Christopher Priest - The Separation

Our informal consultation took place at my clinic in Harley Street, London, in the morning of the above date.

Mr Sawyer presents as a prepossessing young man, with a neat and tidy appearance. He is well dressed, articulate in speech and thoughtful in demeanour. He is educated to a high level and well read. He is informed on current affairs, even those with which he has no sympathy.

His personality struck me as intriguing and complex. As a registered conscientious objector he is obviously a man of principle. I found his company interesting, but at the same time he does not have much sense of humour, he becomes irritated with minor matters and, although I was with him for too short a time to gain any firm evidence, I came to the opinion that he would be morose, obsessive and unwavering about matters on which he forms a view.

However, he is at present preoccupied with more personal concerns and it was on these that we concentrated.

Mr Sawyer is a married man and his wife is expecting their first baby. He has many anxieties about this. Firstly, he tells me that for a long time he doubted that he was the child’s actual father, but he said also that in the recent past he has resolved his worries. His wife, whose pregnancy proceeded fairly normally at first, has recently shown symptoms of toxaemia, with worrying consequences. (She is apparently under regular medical supervision, so I was able to reassure him on that score.) Mr Sawyer, who I gather is about to make a trip abroad, is worried that the baby might be born while he is away. Again, I offered reassurances about modern healthcare.

Mr Sawyer is an identical twin. His brother is on active duty with the RAF, and hence is constantly in danger from enemy action. Mr Sawyer tried to explain to me that he and his brother have an extra ‘bond’ of affection and understanding, which can have unpredictable effects when they are separated by such events as wartime duties, family-disputes, travel abroad and so on. He was not to know that I have made a special study of the psychology of identical twins, so I listened with particular interest to what he had to say. In my view, Mr Sawyer displays normal or familiar concerns about being a monozygotic twin, so once again I was able to reassure him. Complicating their difficult relationship is that Mr Sawyer and his brother fell out with each other after Mr Sawyer married. He harbours suspicions that his brother might be the real father of the unborn child. Mr Sawyer says he has evidence of this, but would not go into details. I felt I could not and should not pursue this.

Last year, Mr Sawyer suffered a serious traumatic physical event, which caused concussion together with related memory-loss. Mr Sawyer says his physical recovery has been good.

Of his psychological state, though, he says that he has been suffering recurring episodes similar to the ‘déjà vu’ phenomenon, a form of lucid paramnesia in which he feels he is predicting events that do not in the event turn out to be true. I told Mr Sawyer that delusional incidents often occur as a result of concussion, and he accepted this. I also explained that it was common for such delusional incidents to be plausible and easily confused with real life, at least for a while.

Mr Sawyer told me that his real concern is that whenever he suffers an attack it ends with him returning abruptly to the moment the delusion began, forcing him to question whether or not it has really ended.

He also mentioned in particular that he has frequently wondered whether the life he is leading now - i.e. the work he is doing with the Red Cross, the interview he has had with me, and so on - is also one long delusion from which he will suddenly awaken, instantly invalidating everything he is now experiencing.

I assured him that it was not and suggested that my writing this letter for him to give to you would be further evidence that it was not, but of course from his point of view it settles nothing in what might be described as his proto-delusional state.

Mr Sawyer seems to be coping well with the condition and tells me that it is a lot better. He believes he has it under control. I can assure you and him that he does not appear to be suffering any deep-rooted psychosis, that he can function well in the normal world and that with time the problem should go away altogether. My only concern would be if, in the short term, Mr Sawyer were to undergo some other kind of shock - of a physical nature, or a psychological one, perhaps related to his expected child or the well-being of his twin brother - then he might suffer a setback in this regard.

Yours very sincerely,

Frank

[Franklin K. Clark MSc; Clinical Psychologist]

Our plane flew low over the rooftops of Stockholm, a grey-and-silver city whose outlines were delineated by sparkling channels of sunlit water. We landed on the lake called Stora Varten, to the north-east of the centre of the city, in a great plume of white spray that splashed against the cabin portholes like a cascade of pebbles. The flying-boat swooped sharply down and up while we still travelled at speed on the surface of the water, but when the pilot held down the aircraft’s nose the noise briefly increased as the plane was slowed by the friction of the water. My own seat was fairly close to the front of the cabin, looking out through the porthole beneath the starboard wing.

The forward part of the cabin was curtained off not far in front of my seat. Once again, we in the rear part of the aircraft had to wait while the dignitaries at the front disembarked. This time it was not as straightforward a matter as it had been on land. I watched as a motor-boat came out from the shore and tied up beneath the wing. The Duke of Kent and his entourage boarded the boat in my full view, but by this time the secrecy surrounding the Duke’s presence was a formality for most of us on the aircraft.

By the time the rest of us had disembarked and been taken at high speed to the centre of the city, it was getting dark. Most of the delegates stayed in a large hotel in the city. In the morning we were driven out into the countryside, to a beautiful mansion set in a secluded position, surrounded by forest and overlooking a wide lake. As before, I was assigned to the document team, a job I relished. The important difference on this occasion was that I was placed in overall charge of the team, something I thought a great honour.

However, it was soon apparent that it was not to be a rerun of the earlier meeting.

Deputy Führer Rudolf Hess was expected to arrive in Stockholm during the night, but clearly something had gone wrong while he was en route. He did not appear at the first session, which naturally enough meant the talks were not able to start.

While we were settling down in the palatial rooms of the mansion, his absence noted by all, rumours began to spread. At first they were sensational stories: Hess had been sidelined by Goering, Hess’s plane had been shot down, Hitler had ordered Hess not to attend, and so on. From Count Bernadotte’s team of assistants - it turned out that the estate belonged to the count, although he was not present in person - we learned that none of the rumours was true and that the talks were merely delayed for a few hours for unavoidable reasons.

With no facts we could rely on, all we could do was wait until the position became clearer. Dr Burckhardt, who obviously knew no more than any of us, counselled patience. We remained in a state of suspension through the morning, took an early lunch, then returned to our various places.

Midway through the afternoon, without prior warning, three black Daimler limousines approached the house at some speed. Attracted by the sound and the movement, several members of our translation team moved to the window to see what was happening. Hess was travelling in the first car. As soon as it halted he climbed down, briefly scanned the facade of the house then strode into the building.